Hunger
by ennusi
Summary: Power is everything, but like all things, it comes with a price.


**A/N: Just a short drabble for Cell, exploring an idea that came up in my other fic. I don't write nearly enough drabbles and one-shots, even though I have a ton of them in mind.**

* * *

The first thing he learns when he emerges for the first time, is that power is everything.

Earth. The Universe. One is useless without it.

The desolate landscape mocks him. Whatever this city had been is no more, just like the others. What were once tall buildings and winding roads now lay in heaps of collapsed and charred rubble. Trails of smoke rise sporadically from the ruins, mingling with the air. The whole area smells like smoke and death, overwhelming his senses. He's too late.

Humans, despite all their delusions, have no power. Which is why they are on the brink of extinction. Their efforts in ruins is proof enough. His brother and sister had power - _his_ power, but it is becoming increasingly clear that they didn't have enough. And for the first time in his short life, he feels afraid.

* * *

The last remnants of humanity give him just enough strength to keep going. But it's not enough. So when he kills the boy, he counts himself lucky. As he prepares to board the Time Machine, he makes a vow. He will be strong and he will rely on his power rather than fickle luck.

* * *

The difference in strength is overwhelming. His first form had been a prison, a limiting bind of fear and impotence. His second form, a taste of what was to come. This form, raw power. The other fighters can't stop him even if they try. Oh, but he'd certainly challenged them to. His Saiyan genes hunger for battle.

His purpose had been a simple one: kill Son Goku. But his creator had died long ago and now he is feeling rather bored. He was created as a tool for revenge because his creator lacked the power to do so himself. It was shameful. But Cell is different, he is _perfect_. He doesn't need to rely on anyone to do his deeds for him. He isn't subjected to the whims of luck and he answers to no one.

For once, since he emerged, he feels free.

Freedom that sounds like a chorus of discordant screams of terror. That lacks that distinct burning scent of fear from long ago.

There was no limit to what he can do. The others are imbeciles to restrict themselves the way they did. Tethering themselves with human morality and notions of bonds. Virtue, family, _love_. They are nothing but shackles to protect the weak. Fortunately, he has no such things to worry about. With power, he makes the rules and sets the boundaries. And for him, there are none.

* * *

He'd been a fool to think he was at his peak before. The resurrection brought with it a surge of power that put his previous form to shame. His body had even compensated for the loss of Eighteen. He is more than perfect. He is _unstoppable_. Sparks dance along his armor, crackling with energy. The very Earth trembles in the wake of his might. The others look at him in fear. Power is everything and he is the strongest. And he craves more.

The feeling is intoxicating. His hunger for power insatiable. Somewhere in his mind, he remembers hearing that power corrupts. This is the price he had to pay to achieve it, this voracious need. It's never enough.

But he feels it's a small price compared to the freedom it gives him.

He wants more. More power, more destruction, _more_.

He thinks of what he could do after he finishes with the rest of the fighters. He could continue to terrorize the Earth as he'd already done or travel the galaxy in search of greater challenges. There was no telling what other beings existed and how much strength they possessed. Strength he could gain for himself.

And maybe, after he had the entire universe under his dominion and there was no one left to challenge him, maybe it would be enough.

* * *

When the energy pierces his armor, he feels afraid. The acrid scent of burning fear fills his lungs. He slowly starts to disintegrate and he's furious, disbelieving, and maybe just a touch resentful.

Power was everything and, like luck, it was also very fickle.


End file.
